


if you hold on to a chorus you can get through the night

by congratsyouvegrownasoul



Category: The Sopranos
Genre: "not to brag but my boyfriend is a rescue"--Carmela DeAngelis, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gen, Italian Mafia, Italian-American Character, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, high school sweethearts, really fluffy guys I know it's the sopranos but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25344181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/congratsyouvegrownasoul/pseuds/congratsyouvegrownasoul
Summary: Carmela brings her boyfriend home for dinner
Relationships: Carmela Soprano/Tony Soprano
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	if you hold on to a chorus you can get through the night

“You’re sure he’s fine with me interviewing him?”

It’s probably the fifth time Tony’s asked her today, and definitely the second time just while he’s walking her home from school, but Carmela can be patient. She knows how much he wants her father to like him. 

“He’s really excited, actually, I think it makes him feel special. He was telling me all about how when he was our age he wrote this big history paper about Charlemagne.” 

Tony grins. 

“I hope he’s not gonna try and make himself look like Charlemagne, though. I might have to scrap Paulie’s section entirely and find someone else to interview who was in ‘Nam, the amount of bullshit he gave me. Telling me about how he fought three Viet Cong and a pit viper singlehanded, like I’d believe that. I mean, maybe when I was about twelve years old.”

Carmela laughs. “I’m sure he’ll be more honest! No offense to Paulie, but my dad is pretty modest. He’s going to be your last interview, right? You already got your uncle?”

“Yeah, I talked to Uncle Jun’ last Sunday after dinner, so I’ve got World War Two and Vietnam and then with your dad I’ll have Korea. I think he mostly told me real stuff, but there was this long story about this girl he was seeing in Paris when he was waiting to ship out back home that I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to cut.”

“Off-topic, huh?”

“Well, off-topic and also if I put that kind of talk into a school paper they’ll probably dock me a grade and send me to detention.”

“You’re worried about getting detention? I think I’m going to have to walk the rest of the way without you--I only let my boyfriend walk me home, and I don’t know who _you_ are.”

Tony raises his eyebrows, and copies her teasing tone. 

“Well, for some reason in the last few months I’ve had this urge to get my grades up, I can’t imagine who might have influenced that, it must be a random miracle.”

Carmela blushes. 

“Well, I do try.”

She sometimes feels like she pushes him too hard, and then she gives in and lets him copy her math homework so they have time to spend doing more enjoyable things. Then she feels guilty because she doesn’t push him hard enough, and the main reason she doesn’t like him getting detention is because it’s less time he can be with her. 

According to Carmela’s mother, they shouldn’t be taking so many of the same classes anyway, since she’s a sophomore and Tony is a junior. Sharing a math class isn’t his fault, because Carmela tested a level ahead when she started high school. And it’s not really his fault that he’s repeating chemistry--Janice had left at the end of last year, and even though that was before they were together, she can see how upset he gets whenever anyone brings it up. Really, Carmela thinks, he’s lucky to only have failed one class outright last year, poor thing. 

“You know, though,” Tony muses, “all this shit like detention is so stupid.”

He kicks at a tuft of grass poking out of a crack in the sidewalk as they turn onto her street.

“I mean, talking to my uncle about this--you know he quit school and joined the army as soon as he turned seventeen, ‘cause he was worried otherwise the war would end before he got to go fight? They made him get my grandpa’s permission before he could go but he was fighting to free France! And my dad was too young to be a soldier but he was already running with a crew by the time Uncle Jun’ got back. I’m gonna be seventeen in June, I’m not some kid.” 

Carmela catches his hand up in hers, giving him a comforting squeeze.

“Well, I’m sure you would be a hero too if you were alive back then, but you like playing ball and being with your friends and being with me too, right?”

“No, of course I do, it’s just...it’s not big things, you know?”

“Well, you can always just _tell_ people you fought three Viet Cong and a pit viper, right?”

Tony laughs, but it sounds a little reluctant. She squeezes his hand again, but she’s relieved to reach the front of her house, and hopefully change the subject to something a little happier.

Her mother is out in the front yard, bent over one of her prized rose bushes with a pair of pruning shears. She’s got her back to them, but she looks up when Carmela calls out in greeting. 

“Hello, Mrs. DeAngelis.” Tony waves and half-smiles, almost shy in his formality, his other hand tight around Carmela’s. 

He’s not quite comfortable coming over to her house yet, and Carmela’s mother isn’t comfortable with him either. As much as Carmela tries to distract him, to smooth over every awkward interaction and cover her mother’s chilly politeness with warmth, it’s still apparent. 

For all Tony’s half-in-earnest jokes about pulling his grades up, the fact is that certain people think his sins go a lot deeper than failing tenth grade chemistry. 

She’d been aware of his family, of course, everyone was. Tony didn’t fade into the background: he was big and loud and made people laugh, and was popular enough that most people would have known who he was anyway, even without the little whisper following him about _oh, you know,_ that thing of theirs. The thing that made sure all of her friends paid attention when she started talking about her crush on him, excited and nervous all at once. 

Carmela first noticed him at the beginning of the year, doodling in his notebook in the back of their science classroom. One of his friends--Silvio, she would learn--would come wait for him outside the door at the end of the period, and they’d stroll off arm-in-arm, or race down the hall shouting and laughing. Carmela would watch them go, shy and curious and invisible. Until, eventually, she wasn’t. 

After he’d finally noticed her, quite a while after, she’d seen him with Christopher for the first time, and she’d realized how much more their lives overlapped than she’d thought. She’d remembered a moment she’d long forgotten, back when he was a chubby-cheeked boy at Dickie Moltisanti’s funeral, and she was trying her best to sit straight in a stiff black dress she’d just barely outgrown. 

She’d only ever been to funerals for old people before, and this one was sadder and uglier, with a weeping young widow and baby Christopher wailing along discordantly in his grandmother’s arms. 

“Bold of Johnny Soprano to show up,” her mother had hissed in an undertone to her father. “Those people got him killed, and here they are.” 

Carmela had followed her eyes to what had looked like an ordinary family, a few rows ahead, and that other little boy sitting next to his father. 

“What did they--”

She’d tried to ask, confused, but had been resolutely shushed, and steered away from talking to the Soprano children at the wake, instead taking her turn holding Christopher, his little body heavy in her arms. 

The memory had come floating up unprompted, dark and portentous. She’s never spoken about it with Tony, but she’s thought of it again and again, especially whenever her mother treats Tony like something unwanted. 

Tony’s father takes care of Chrissy and his mother, Carmela argues in her head, but not aloud. Keeps a roof over their heads and the power on, and even bought him a bike this past Christmas. After the snow had melted and she and Tony had started seeing each other, she had stood in Christopher’s driveway, watching the two of them race down the street. Christopher careened haphazardly on the new bike, with Tony running alongside, loping on his long legs, both of them whooping and hollering to their heart’s content. She’d clapped and cheered herself, as much for Tony’s sake as for Chrissy’s. 

Families take care of each other, and Johnny Soprano looks after Dickie’s family, even if they’re a different kind of family than blood. 

Carmela’s mother returns Tony’s wave, but she addresses Carmela. 

“Your father’s not home from work yet, but he said he’d try to get away early today so you can do the interview before dinner.”

“Thanks, Ma. Tony is really excited, aren’t you? He’s so enthusiastic about this paper.”

“Yeah, um, talking to people about their experiences in the military is really cool.” 

He shuffles his feet, looking awkward, and not exactly selling the whole totally-not-a-bad-influence-on-your-daughter impression Carmela’s going for. His height and broad shoulders, the sturdiness she usually finds so attractive, make him stick out all the more on the rare occasions he’d rather _not_ be noticed. 

“I, um, already interviewed my uncle and, um, my dad’s friend Paulie who was in Vietnam.” 

“Oh, you interviewed Paulie Gaultieri?” 

From the way her eyes narrow, Carmela guesses that Tony bringing up one of his father’s associates was a mistake.

“Yeah, his sister Mary goes to our church, right, Ma? She’s the one who makes the fruitcake every Christmas, remember?”

“Oh, that _dreadful_ fruitcake. She’s a sweet woman, though.” 

Sufficiently distracted, she bends over her roses again, beckoning the two of them towards the house. 

“Go on in, then. I’ll be inside in a bit, you should find something to keep yourselves busy before Hugh gets home.”

They troop inside the house, swinging their bookbags down at the foot of the stairs. 

“Can we make cookies again while we’re waiting?” Tony asks hopefully, glancing towards the kitchen.

“I seem to remember last time _someone_ kept licking the spoon behind my back,” Carmela teases.

“Hey, it’s tasty before you bake it too!”

“Oh, I know, I know, I don’t mind, really.” She checks the oven, then straightens up, frowning.

“Looks like Ma’s already baking manigott’ for dinner, so I guess we’re out of luck. You want a piece of jelly roll, though? We had one over the weekend and there’s leftovers.”

“Well, it’s not raw cookie dough, but sure.”

Carmela tips a slice of the cake onto a plate for Tony, hesitates, then returns to the fridge for a chunk of cheese and an apple. She adds a fistful of Ritz crackers, evaluates the spread, and decides it looks pretty solid. 

“You don’t want anything? I feel weird just eating in someone else’s house.”

“I’ll wait for dinner. Don’t worry, you’re fine.”

The last time Tony had been over for dinner, he’d wound up with his plate scraped clean glancing wistfully at the last couple meatballs in the serving dish before Carmela’s mother had finally taken pity on him and told him to go ahead and eat them. With two daughters and a small, slender husband, she isn’t used to preparing enough food for a tall teenage boy who’s still filling out. Carmela figures it’s better to take the edge off his appetite early in case there’s a repeat of that situation tonight. 

She puts the plate down on the coffee table in front of Tony, and cozies up next to him on the couch.

“I know how hard Coach works you at practice. You probably need to eat a lot, keep your strength up.”

Tony snorts, taking a forkful of cake. 

“Forget him, he’s nothing compared to my uncle. He figures I can make varsity next year if he just chucks enough balls at me every weekend.”

He swallows, looking uncharacteristically serious.

“Next year’s my last chance, though, so he’s right, I do need to get it together.”

Carmela puts a tentative hand on his shoulder. He’s tense, but loosens up at her touch. Reassured, she gives him an affectionate little pat on the back. 

“You’re doing fine, remember your home run? I screamed myself _hoarse._ ” 

“Well, Glen Ridge’s outfield can’t play for shit, so I wasn’t up against much.” 

He’s smiling, though. 

“Thanks, Carmela.” 

She smiles, and tucks her head up against his shoulder, still rubbing his back, while he finishes his food.

He seems unusually stressed today, she thinks. She doesn’t know if it’s just his nerves over the impending interview with her father, or if he’s truly worked up over his performance on the baseball team, but there’s something up. 

Carmela contemplates whether to ask him: would he even tell her, or just brush it off with a joke? Perhaps it’s better to just let him enjoy his snack and settle into her touch and find some measure of comfort there, as he seems to be doing already. Better to leave well enough alone and let him come back to his usual sweet, jokey self. 

She’s almost decided against saying anything when he pipes up again, fake-casually around a large mouthful of cheese and cracker. 

“Sal’s getting married. You wanna be my date?”

She lifts her head up, staring at him blankly. 

“Sal...Bonpensiero? To Angie?”

She has a cousin Sal, but she doesn’t think Tony’s ever met him, and everyone else she knows named Sal is already married. Still, given that Sal and Angie both graduated just last June, it’s unexpected. 

“Yeah, next month, at St. Joseph’s. You don’t have to come if you think it’s maybe getting too serious or whatever, I thought maybe you might like to dress up and keep me company, not that I’m shy at weddings, he’s just my first friend who’s gotten married and it’s kind of strange, I don’t know.”

“Oh, Tony, is that why you were saying it feels weird for you to still be in high school earlier?” 

He frowns.

“Yeah, I guess. Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell anyone?” 

“Okay, I promise.”

He’s avoiding her eyes, so she bites her lip and waits. 

“Angie’s pregnant, that’s why they’re getting married. Sal told me, 'cause he don't think what he makes at the auto shop is going to be enough with the baby, so he asked me if I’d talk to my dad about finding him other jobs to do and make some more money.” 

Carmela assumes the secret he wants her to keep is the detail about Angie’s pregnancy, but the second half of what he’s just said hangs heavier in her ears. He sounds proud, but there’s a little bit of anxiety there as well. 

“Are you okay with that?” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? It’s not fucked up, Carmela, he’s just doing stuff for my dad, he’s not hurting anyone.” 

His voice is getting hot and loud, and he’s still not looking at her.

“I already talked to him about it, anyway, so it’s a done deal.”

“Hey,” Carmela says softly. “It’s okay, Tony. I’m glad you could help your friend out.” 

“Yeah.” 

He huffs, hands fisted on top of his knees. She reaches down and twines her fingers with his. 

“Don’t worry about--”

She breaks off as her mother opens the front door, looking up with a twinge of guilt. It isn’t as if she’s been caught with her pants down, they’re just holding hands, but the conversation is a different kind of intimacy and one she’s equally unwilling to have others witness right now. 

“Anyway,” she continues, patting his hand and making her voice bright and happy. “I’ll certainly go to the wedding with you.” 

“Who’s getting married?”

“Tony’s friend Sal, Ma. To Angie Belfiore, her brother Michael was in Patty’s grade, he’s in seminary now.”

“Oh, he was always a smart boy, he used to talk about wanting to be a doctor. Of course, so did Patty. Well, going to school for all those years is _so_ expensive.”

“She really likes being a dental hygienist, though, Ma.”

“I’m gonna go to college,” Tony butts in, loudly and abruptly. “Definitely not seminary, though.”

Carmela stifles a laugh behind a cough. She definitely doesn’t want him to think she’s laughing at the idea of him going to college; it’s just that he’s never mentioned it before this moment. 

Her mother looks a bit taken aback. Before she can say anything regarding Tony’s educational plans, thankfully, the front door swings open again. 

“So, I hear there’s an aspiring journalist in the house,” her father calls out, spotting Tony and grinning at him. 

“It’s a _history_ interview, for my class,” Tony says, as if it’s an even grander proposition. 

“Well, if you kids could wait a minute while I wash up and get a drink, I’ll be ready to start soon.”

“You’re so excited, Dad,” Carmela laughs. 

“Well, I haven’t been interviewed since that article in the paper a few years ago about the new public pool. Now, Mellie, you’ll remember, but Tony won’t have heard, I was down at the grocery store picking up tomatoes, and this rookie journalist not much older than you was coming up to people in the parking lot asking for comments, and--” 

“Hugh! You’ll have plenty of time to chatter on later. Go wash up, I don’t want dinner to be too late.” 

He nods cheerfully, and trots off to the bathroom. Faced with the prospect of sitting in dead silence while Tony fidgets and her mother tries to think up more pointed questions, Carmela springs to action. 

“Come on, Tony, let’s go look for my tape recorder so I don’t have to take notes by hand, huh?” 

Carmela is almost positive she lent it to her cousin Kathy, but she doesn’t mind taking notes and it’ll give them an excuse to leave the room for a bit. 

“Hey, you think she’ll like me if _I_ go to seminary, or med school, or whatever the fuck?” Tony says to her in a not-soft-enough undertone when they’re halfway up the stairs. 

She shushes him nervously. 

“My dad likes you, Tony, did you see how excited he is?” 

“Yeah, I guess. Your ma’s the boss, though, just like mine.” 

Carmela winces. She’s worried about her mother making Tony feel unwelcome, or getting him angry, but she hadn’t thought about him feeling the same way she does interacting with _his_ mother. It’s hard to imagine Tony feeling small and scared. 

“Anyway,” she says, trying to keep her tone light and letting herself get a little louder now that they’ve reached the second floor. “I know someone who would be very disappointed if you went to seminary.” 

“Are _you_ gonna go to college?” 

He still sounds a little plaintive. 

Carmela frowns, pushing open her bedroom door and tugging him along inside. 

“I guess so. I mean, my sister went to community college but my grades are better than hers were, and I know my parents really want me to. But I don’t really know what I want to do 'when I grow up', you know, and I have to find someplace we can afford or get a scholarship.” 

Tony nods, looking more reassured. 

“That makes sense. I never really thought about any of this stuff, I guess. Even if I got in, I don’t know if my dad would pay for it. How many cars would I have to steal for college tuition, you think?”

“Tony!” 

He’s laughing, eyes sparkling. Carmela grins despite herself. 

“Don’t tell that joke in front of your mother, huh? So, where’s this tape recorder?” 

“Nowhere, I lent it to my cousin. I don’t mind taking notes myself, I just wanted to get some alone time. _Not_ that way, Tony, get your mind out of the gutter! Just to get Ma off your case.”

Still smirking, he closes the door while Carmela sits down on her bed. She’s been in his room a bunch of times, but he’s never been in hers--somehow, parents are never as protective of their boys. 

She shoots a rueful glance at the plush pony sitting on top of her pink bedspread, and wonders if she should stuff it under the bed while he’s not looking.

He’s examining her dresser, lifting the lid on her little painted jewelry box. The tinkle of mechanical music flows out, and he pokes curiously at the tiny ballerina, revolving slowly on her spring. 

“That’s cute. My kid sister would love this.”

Carmela hops off the bed. 

“You see those garnet earrings? Garnet’s the red ones, Tony,” she adds when she sees his confused look. 

“Oh. They’re real pretty.”

“My great-grandmother brought them all the way over from Sicily when she came here in 1910. So they’re very special, even though they’re not fancy. They’re mine now ‘cause I’m named after her, she was Carmela too. I’m hardly ever allowed to wear them, though, because I might lose them, but I did for my confirmation. I’m supposed to wear them when I get married, too.”

He shuts the jewelry box, and the music clicks off. 

“Speaking of weddings, which dress should I wear to Sal’s? I have two church dresses for spring and summer.”

She steps out of the closet, a hanger in each hand.

“Pink and ruffly or blue with flowers? Which one do you like?”

He stares at her, wide-eyed, leaning against the dresser. 

“I like the blue. ‘Cause it matches your eyes.” 

“Then I’ll wear the blue one.” She holds it out in front of her, draping across her body, and gives him a little twirl. 

“And I’ll get to see _you_ looking very handsome in a jacket and tie, won’t I?” 

Tony grins, a little sheepishly. 

“Yeah, I guess I clean up pretty good, huh?”

“Well, maybe I’m biased,” Carmela teases, “but I certainly think you do.”

She turns away from him, hanging her dresses back up in the closet. 

“We should probably go downstairs soon, before my mother sends out a search party.” 

“Hey, Carmela, I like your horse.”

“Oh, seriously? I almost hid it just now, I thought it was so babyish. It’s super old.”

He laughs, ruffling the horse’s yarn mane. 

“No, I liked horses when I was little too. ‘Cause I thought my dad was a cowboy. That and I used to watch _Gunsmoke_ on television all the time.”

“Why did you think your dad was a cowboy?” Carmela asks curiously. 

“That’s what Ma and my uncle told me and Janice when he was in prison. He was out west being a cowboy. He went away when I was in kindergarten, came back right after first grade started. ‘Course, since they told me that, I kept bugging him about what the horses were like and what the cows were like and if he saw any Indians and whatever. Finally he told me he’d find me a horse to ride if I stopped asking questions, so of course I shut my trap right up.”

“So did you get to ride a horse?” 

“Yeah, actually, his friend Hesh has horses and he took me out to his place and let me ride this big black one. I fell off three times and skinned both my knees, but it was amazing. Plus a couple years there were pony rides at the Festival of St. Elzear, but that wasn’t quite as cool.” 

“Oh, I remember the pony rides! I liked those too.” 

She sits down again on the bed, next to him. He pulls her closer, halfway onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. The stuffed horse squishes up in between them, well-worn head flopping sideways. 

“Let’s go next year, huh, you and me? I’ll buy you one of those great big zeppole with the cream filling--or maybe you like jam?”

“I don’t care, I like both. That sounds lovely.” 

She smiles, feeling a bit mischievous. 

“And you’re going to win me all the prizes in the ring toss, too, right?”

“Well, all that shit is a _total_ scam, I’ll have you know. But I can sure try if you want me to.”

“Maybe a few games, just for fun.”

“I always have fun with you.” 

“Awww, you are so cute, Tony. Me too.”

He falls back on the bed, laughing a little.

“I only let you call me cute, you know. Nobody else.”

Carmela props herself up on her elbows, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. 

“I’m going to tell _everyone_ at that wedding how cute you are. We’re going to have so much fun.”

“Yeah, we won’t be the only ones, Sal’s paying for an open bar. Ma’s probably going to be watching me like a hawk ‘cause of that, though. We’ll have to sneak.”

He winks at her. 

Carmela’s anticipation of the wedding is rather dramatically dampened by the knowledge that Tony’s parents will also be attending, but she tries not to show it. It does make sense, after all, with Sal wanting to get in with Tony’s father. 

“Why,” she asks, mock-stern, “do I always let you talk me into breaking so many rules?”

“I’ve been told I’m cute. Maybe it’s ‘cause of that.”

She laughs, and she’s contemplating kissing him, or letting him kiss her since he looks like he’s thinking about it too. Before she can decide which route she wants to take, there’s a sharp knock at the door. 

“Carmela! You two had better get downstairs and get started with your father, unless you want to be eating dinner at midnight.”

Carmela rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, nudging Tony in the ribs. 

“You ready to go get an A?”

Tony snorts.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t snort at me! You’re perfectly capable. Come on, get up, let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH THE SOPRANOS FLASHBACK FIC BABY
> 
> Writing teenagers is hard, I hope they felt authentic for the age they're supposed to be. 
> 
> Title is once more from a Meat Loaf song, "Rock and Roll Dreams Come Through", because I'm evidently shooting for a theme here.


End file.
